


I would drive on to the end with you

by BeBunny



Series: Sub-'Verse [4]
Category: Bandom
Genre: BDSM, Leashes, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-22
Updated: 2012-01-22
Packaged: 2017-10-29 22:44:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/324992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeBunny/pseuds/BeBunny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bob and Gerard make Frank play a game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I would drive on to the end with you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ladyfoxxx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyfoxxx/gifts).



Too soon before sunset, while the fights of crows over burger scraps in the parking lot could still be heard over the packing of crates into trailers and trucks, Frank’s world prematurely narrowed into the small private space that was The Bus.

The summer was going well; there was chaos everywhere they looked, an environment that Frank usually thrived in. Convoys of gear, buses, fans, catering and entourages trekked their way weekly across the landscape like some bloated travelling freak show. They were midway through the tour and routine had set in, homesickness and claustrophobia with it. Habits, traditions and friendships that may or may not survive past the season were born every evening, they often died by sunrise.

His mood had frayed steadily over the course of the day and his patience with it. If he was honest, until he’d sworn at the overzealous security guy at the gate for stopping him hanging out with a couple of harmless kids, he hadn’t noticed the frustration building. Kicking the crap out of the trashcan had helped. He’d spent his rage while Gee chain smoked and watched impassively, arms folded. Mikey had glared menacingly at anyone who came to investigate the racket, just like his brother.

Of course, like some fucking wayward teenager, he’d earned a curfew from Bob, who never accepted excuses for Frank’s spontaneity. Gee had agreed to it, the traitor, despite Frank’s begging.

After a swift and hurriedly whispered discussion that involved (as far as Frank was concerned) altogether too much eyebrow waggling, Mikey had hopped onto Patrick’s bus, insistent on forcing Joe and Pete to watch a marathon Thundercats session. Through the mess of gesticulation Frank gathered Ray was riding on with the Mars guys, having earlier gotten Miličević involved in some sort of heated discussion about chord progression. Frank shrugged and shouldered his way to the couch of their own, pouting and channel hopping over the fuzzy static of the shitty onboard TV.

*~~*

The bus was stuffy, warm and smelled too strongly of cheap coffee. Frank repeatedly fought the urge to drop into a drowsy stupor until they finally rumbled out of the parking lot, tilting slightly as the driver, invisible in his cab at the front, hit a tight kerb.

He was shaken gently awake by Gerard some time later, lurid highway lights throwing wicked shadows across the walls of the bus as they ate miles through the dusk towards the next destination. Bob sat across from them, thrown alternately into silhouette then yellow pooling light. His expression was falsely stern, an act for Frank’s imagination to play with. The corner of his mouth twitched up when Frank pulled himself upright and rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes.

“Wanna play a little game Frank?” Bob rumbled; voice lazy, relaxed. His mouth was a little swollen, his face flushed. Frank glanced at Gerard, who was unconsciously rubbing the tips of his fingers across his bottom lip. So they’d been making out then, watching him sleep. He stifled a yawn and leaned his head back against the couch cushions.

“What are the rules?” He asked. Gerard bumped his foot against Frank’s, friendly, intimate, an invitation to play.

Bob rolled his head to one side, and held Frank’s gaze. “I’m not gonna tie you up.” He replied evenly. Frank couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. He felt like something was out of place, Bob wasn’t buzzing with his usual energy, his movements were sluggish, relaxed, he began to suspect something was going on.

“Stoned? No, not with Gee here...wait...more than making out then...Did Gee blow him while I was sleeping??”

Frank caught a little thrill off the prospect, it piqued his interest since if it were true, it meant that Bob was going to take his time and Gee hadn’t come yet, so he was probably as wired as possible right now. His curiosity got the better of him; they were offering him a choice. What the fuck kinda game was this where he had a choice?

“I’m listening...” He said cautiously.

“Of course you are Frankie.” Bob laughed, the corners of his eyes creasing. “You always do.”

Gerard swung himself around from one couch to the other, landing next to Frank. He tucked a stray lock of hair behind Frank’s ear and flapped a hand at the table next to the window.

“We wanna play poker,” sniggered Gerard. “But we’ll have to settle for twenty questions. Ray has the cards.”

“Get up on the table Frank.” Bob said quietly, firmly, nodding his head towards the pine-effect veneer surface opposite to him. Frank raised an eyebrow at Gerard, who was practically vibrating.

“Can’t help feeling that you two are up to something...” He murmured as Bob took his hand and helped him kneel comfortably on the table. “I have to answer questions?”

“Bob is thinking of something.” Gerard said, picking at the sleeve of his t-shirt. “You have twenty questions to discover what it is.”

“Oh Kay...” Frank said, shifting his weight a little to brace himself against the tasteless carpeted wall of the bus in case the moving vehicle threw him off balance. “I’m ready.” He grinned at Bob, relaxing a little.

Bob made himself comfortable on the couch, reclining backwards; he flicked on one of the reading lights above the area and nodded, pulling his hoodie down further where it had rucked up against his back. “Ask your first question.” He smiled.

Frank thought for a moment, if he only had twenty questions and he was in the spotlight, so to speak, then he wouldn’t have much room for manoeuvre. He doubted this was the whole story of this game, the two of them almost certainly had something else up their sleeves. In any case, he had to start somewhere.

“Is it an animal?” He ventured, wary of Gerard’s mischievous grin.

“No.” Bob said.

“Take off your shirt Frank!” Gerard squeaked, obviously delighted.

“What?” said Frank, “this is a strip game?”

Gerard bent himself double laughing, his hair flopping uselessly into his face. “Yep! Strip twenty questions! Like I said, we couldn’t play poker!”

Frank fingered the hem of his shirt, and his gaze slid out of the window beside him onto a Ford cruising along beside them on the freeway, windows dark. He hesitated. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been shirtless in public before...

Bob shifted slightly in his seat. “Frank...” He warned. “You either want to play or not, you can pull out or not, but it’s Gerard’s rules.”

Frank could only imagine his evening if he refused to play, he’d be exiled in boredom to his bunk, and he’d have to listen to Bob and Gee enjoying themselves. Probably very loudly, they’d probably forbid him to get off too. He shrugged his shirt over his head, dog-tags swinging against his flesh, cold and sudden. Gerard giggled again.

“You like what you see?” Frank teased. Bob screwed up a nearby Wendy’s napkin and threw it at him.

“Don’t talk unless you’re asking a question or making a guess!” He said.

Frank very nearly stuck his tongue out in response, but that had been a very painful mistake he’d made last summer. He had drawn some strange looks at the signing the next day when he couldn’t sit properly on his chair. He checked himself and wrinkled his nose as a compromise.

“Alright,” Frank ventured, narrowing his eyes at the reading light. “Is it something we see every day?”

“Yes.” said Bob, throwing a glance at Gerard who huffed out a breath in frustration.

Frank swallowed and thought carefully about his next question. For a moment he watched the headlights from passing cars through the window pressed against his thigh.

“Mmmm,” he said finally. “Would you eat it?”

Gerard snapped his mouth shut and looked at Bob sharply who paused for a second, oh so obviously teasing him. The corner of his mouth twitched up and he shook his head slowly.

Gerard yelped “Take your shoes off Frank!” and fist pumped.

Frank giggled, despite his potential public indecency predicament he was starting to relax, to enjoy the game. He couldn’t in all honesty resist it, not with Gerard bouncing around like an over-excited puppy and Bob holding the leash...so to speak. Frank mused on that, it’d been too long since he’d worn his leash, far too long. After tugging off his battered and scuffed sneakers he chewed on his lip and looked meaningfully at Bob.

“What is it Frankie?” Bob asked, waving Gerard back into his seat with a small gesture to calm down.

“If I guess correctly...” Frank paused, not certain how to phrase his request. “Would you...can I have a treat?” He leaned his inflection on ‘treat’ hoping Bob would pick up on the innuendo.

“Only dogs get treats Frankie,” Gerard said, eyes bright and a wicked grin tugging at his mouth.

Frank felt his heartbeat quicken, he was ever thankful for Gerard’s filthy fucking mind and while he’d still have laid bets on Bob deciphering his request he had forgotten to account for Gerard’s penchant for watching Frank crawl around on all fours.

Bob rubbed the back of his neck and sucked on his bottom lip, bringing a flush of colour back to it. Decisively he reached up to one of the small cupboards above him. He pushed in the tiny catch and with a barely audible ‘click’ the door swung open. Immediately several bags of chips and a Maple Crunch bar fell outwards onto the floor of the bus, narrowly missing Bob’s head.

“Fucking Mikey!” he swore as he rummaged around at the back of the little cubby hole. Finally with what was almost a flourish, if Bob had been a flourish kind of a guy, he produced a long strip of supple red leather and a slim matching collar. They were both studded with tin studs and a small circular tag hanging off the collar that simply read “FRANK”.

Bob curled the leash around on itself and placed the two items carefully on the table in front of Frank’s knees. He patted Frank to shift back a little so he was braced more against the wall and returned to his seat.

Frank couldn’t help his response to the leash, he could feel himself getting uncomfortably hard and he was almost temped to throw the next question so he could lose his jeans and relieve some of the pressure. It would not have been in the gaming spirit however, and he didn’t think Bob would look kindly on him ruining Gerard’s game.

Taking a deep breath he tried his next question. “Is it on the bus?” He figured that one could go either way, although most of their personal stuff was with them they did have a hell of a lot of extra gear following them in various trucks and vans.

“Yes.” Bob said, barely moving. Gerard groaned and threw a cushion at Bob, it simply bounced off his chest.

Frank’s eyes began to roam around in the half-light. If he couldn’t speed this game up maybe he actually had a shot at winning this thing! He nodded, considering.

“Is it black?”

“Yes.”

That was a stupid fucking question. “The Black Parade dumbass. Nearly everything on this bus is black.” Frank swore at himself internally.

Gerard clicked his tongue and balled up Frank’s shirt in his hands. “Fraaaa~aaank!” he whined.

Frank grinned. He cast thoughts wildly about. “Think douchebag, think!” He wrinkled his nose and sniffed, turning to Bob. Another flash of lurid yellow light bounced off the walls of the bus. “Is it smaller than a book?” He ventured.

Bob shook his head, blinking slowly. Gerard whooped and pointed at Frank’s knees. “I want the pants!” he cackled.

Frank raised an eyebrow. “Not a phrase you hear too often...” He said quietly as he slid round to his backside and wriggled out of the denim. He frowned as he struggled back into his kneeling position on the table as the bus rounded a bend throwing him slightly off balance. He hoped to anything that was listening that the lights flooding the slipway weren’t throwing him into relief through the glass.

“I hear it all the time from him,” Bob chuckled. “I want those pants! They match my belt, look!” Frank grinned toothily at Bob’s best impression of Gerard’s diva voice. Gerard threw Frank’s shirt at Bob, it fell impotently in a heap a meter before it reached him.

Gerard tried to look incredulous, managing ‘barely miffed’. “You’re on six Frankie,” He sniffed “and you’re down to your boxers.”

Frank was beginning to get a little cold. His brow furrowed as he thought carefully about his next question. Bob was starting to distract him; he’d taken the leash off the table and was twirling it slowly in his big powerful hands. Frank tried not to think about what it might be like to have them grasping his waist and...fuck.

His eyes fell on Ray’s Les Paul and he took a stab in the dark, shaking his hair out of his face. “Can you play it?”

Gerard bit his lip and grinned, watching Bob, impassive in the gloom, for the answer. Frank found himself holding his breath as Bob considered. Slowly, Bob reached for the Maple Crunch bar and unwrapped it. Taking a deliberately slow bite he seemed to mull it over, as though he wasn’t sure himself. As he swallowed his gaze slid upwards over Frank’s naked thighs, following the ink barely showing on his skin to his face. “Give me your boxers Frank.” He said, voice low and quiet.

Frank wriggled out of his underwear, his breathing quickening, he knew Bob would see how hard he was, but he didn’t know whether he would be allowed to act on it. He did only what was asked, kneeling on the table he held out his boxers and tried fervently to remember whether you could see through the windows from outside the bus. “How many times have you walked past this thing? Jesus, can you see in from outside?” His mind crowded with images of sunny days and baking tarmac and the bus as a backdrop but he couldn’t find one where he could remember looking in through the window. There were few cars on the freeway with them, late as it was, but the thrill of being caught, the idea that some bored late-night passenger would glance up at the imposing bus and see the outline of his naked form kneeling in the window had him rock hard and panting.

Bob gestured for Gerard to take the proffered underwear. As he leant across the bus to hand them to the drummer, grinning impishly at Frank, Bob caught his wrist and pulled him down into his lap, facing the table. One arm tightened around his waist as his free hand stroked Gerard’s throat.

Frank watched as Gerard melted under Bob’s expert touch, his eyes glazing over and his breathing becoming shallow. His hand snaked from around the singer’s waist to his belt buckle. Snapping it sideways he loosened the clasp and smoothly slid the fly of Gerard’s jeans down with his fingertips. At the miniscule pressure Gerard pushed his hips upwards, rolling his head back on Bob’s shoulder behind him.

 

Bob raised his eyes to meet Frank’s. “Do you want to join in Frankie?” He rumbled, slipping his fingers inside Gerard’s briefs, eliciting a gasp. Frank nodded, not trusting his voice.

“Make one more guess Frank.” He said, and pressed his mouth into Gerard’s hair, whispering into his ear and making Gerard squirm against the hand around his throat.

Frank took a shuddering breath, mesmerised by Gerard’s rhythmic and frustrated thrusts against Bob’s teasing hands.

“It’s not animal, small enough to fit on the bus...no, it’s ON the bus...larger than a book...it’s black...”

Bob smirked and bodily lifted Gerard up briefly, shrugging his jeans and boxers over his knees. Gerard squeaked in surprise and kicked them free, shifting his weight in Bob’s lap so he could spread his legs. Bob resumed his teasing, brushing the underside of Gerard’s now exposed cock, and pressing his lips against his victim’s neck and jawline.

Bob looked so much larger than Gerard to Frank, black sleeved hoodie stark against the bright pale expanse of Gerard’s thighs. He watched them make out for a moment, suspicion and anticipation building in his gut.

“I think I know.” He murmured, loathe to break them apart. Bob tugged backwards on Gerard’s hair, who flopped his head uselessly back onto Bob’s shoulder. “Mmmm?” he said, “Go on then?”

Frank was terrified that if he got it wrong he’d be shut out of the white hot scene unfolding in front of him, but he was so desperate for touch, for attention that he needed to act soon. Shoving his trepidation aside he blurted out his answer. “Your hoodie!”

The corner of Bob’s mouth twitched up and his wrapped his hand around Gerard’s cock, licking a stripe up to his earlobe. “He got it right Gee. Isn’t he a good boy?!”

Gerard rolled his head upright and looked at Frank still kneeling on the table. He blinked lazily, sluggish, and gestured at the collar on the seat beside Bob. “He’s a good boy.” He slurred, “Gets a treat.”

“And you’re fucking lazy.” Bob said, shoving Gerard upright on top of him and placing the collar in his hands.

As Gerard fastened the leather around his neck Frank could feel himself uncoiling, the buzz over his skin settling down to background noise. He was a Good Boy, he was allowed to stay. He watched impassively as Bob undressed, returned to his seat and pulled Gerard back down on top on him, facing towards Frank, knees either side of him, kneeling on the couch. He pressed down in between Gerard’s shoulder blades until he was leaning on his elbows on the table, face inches from Frank’s aching cock. Against the dim light the strip of red leather from Frank’s neck to Gerard’s hand was like a link, a ribbon of lifeblood.

Bob placed his hand on the small of Gerard’s back in front of him, a small snap of a lid and then a shuddering gasp as he stroked lube coated fingers over Gerard’s exposed opening. Achingly gently he slid the first finger in and Frank watched Gerard’s mouth go slack. His eyes rolled shut with the second finger and, as always, it was the third that drew the wanton moan from Gerard’s throat, the one that made every member of their band hard as fucking stone. The one that every so often would sneak out while they were on stage.

Content to watch his work, Bob thrust his fingers forwards lazily; smirking as his fingers disappeared, feeling the stretch and clench that had so often brought out his inner animal. Finally, he slid his arms under Gerard’s and tugged him backwards slightly, As Bob lined himself up, stroking himself and pushing against the first wave of resistance, Gerard tugged on the leash, pulling Frank to his level and moaning shamelessly into Frank’s mouth as Bob thrust up and forwards, bottoming out.

“On the floor Frank.” Bob said through gritted teeth, hauling Gerard fully upright and deepening his thrusts. Gerard let the leash go slack as Frank climbed down, crawling forwards when he hit the carpet. Bob spread his knees as Frank approached, allowing him to get right up against the couch, in between their legs. Gerard’s message was clear, he shortened the leash and tugged Frank roughly towards his crotch, not needing further encouragement Frank took Gerard’s firm cock in his mouth, sliding the head over his tongue as he swallowed as much as he could. Though the collar restricted his breathing a little, especially when Gerard tensed up and pulled on it, he couldn’t help whimpering a little at the satisfaction of touch. Every time Bob pushed upwards Frank could feel the momentum, it pushed Gerard further into his mouth and they soon settled on a rhythm that had Gerard rolling his head and swearing.

“You let Ray fuck you earlier didn’t you Gee.” Bob grunted. “This sure as hell isn’t your first fuck today. Was it Ray? Or was it Mikey?” Bob’s hand snaked over Gerard’s thigh to stroke the corner of Frank’s mouth, feeling Gerard’s spit soaked length sliding in and out. Gerard’s wanton and wordless groan confirmed the truth “You’re such a fucking slut baby, did you let him have his coffee first?”

Bob ran his hand through Frank’s bangs, tipping his head back and increasing the friction across his tongue. “Make him come dirty boy, make him tell you how much he loves it.”

Frank kept his head tipped back and pressed his tongue upwards on the down stroke, raising his hands to palm Gerard’s balls, feeling the pull of skin where Bob was fucking him. He added a hand around Gerard’s shaft and matched Bob’s pace when he quickened. Gerard’s groans became more insistent and his muscles clenched and released in time with them. “Ohfuck ohfuck ohfuck.” He yelped, hands grasping either Bob’s wrists or Frank’s head and inadvertently yanking on the leash. He came gasping Frank’s name and with Bob’s hands spreading his thighs apart, the leash finally gaining some slack. Bonelessly he slid forward and kissed Frank, Bob supporting him as he withdrew, and helping him collapse to the floor.

Bob beckoned to Frank, taking the leash from Gerard’s unresisting hands. Frank crawled up Bob’s body, until their mouths met, Bob nipping none too gently at Frank’s lower lip. Straddling Bob’s thighs Frank arched his back and practically purred when Bob took his left nipple into his mouth and rolled it over his teeth with his tongue. He almost didn’t realise Bob’s intentions until he felt Bob’s fingers probing insistently beneath him. He raised himself further up on his knees and tried to stay as still as possible as Bob slid one deliciously slick finger inside him.

“That’s better,” Bob hummed, “Such a good boy, so fucking tight.” Bob allowed a second finger to slide in next to the first and he twisted and scissored his digits until Frank’s knees buckled. Falling forwards onto Bob’s chest he pressed a hand into the back of the couch to steady himself.

Bob pressed at the side of Frank’s hip with his free hand. “You wanna be fucked on your hands and knees Frank, like a dog? Hmm?” Bob tugged sharply on the leash and pulled downwards until Frank was bent over his lap, a position they often used when Frank was subjected to a spanking. Withdrawing his fingers Bob kneaded Frank’s ass cheeks, spreading them and lightly swatting them.

Shifting his position slightly Bob squeezed a little lube onto his palms and rubbed them together. Extremely gently and with practiced care he slid one hand over Frank’s cock once to slick it up. With the tips of two fingers he began to tease the tip, rubbing tiny circles over its most sensitive areas and occasionally encircling it with his thumb and forefinger, drawing out sensation on top of sensation. Frank lost track of time almost entirely, all he could process was the numbing buzz of stimulation without release, mouth slack, eyes glazed.

Whimpering quietly Frank could only nod dumbly when Bob slipped his hand up his spine and gripped the back of his neck growling low and quiet in his ear about how much he wanted to fuck Frank, how hard he was going to use him. Frank tried not to fall when Bob slid out from under his legs to kneel behind him.

Frank felt the familiar stretch as Bob entered him achingly slowly. His head could only hang down uselessly between his tensed up arms, elbows locked, supporting his, and occasionally Bob’s weight. He felt like he was riding the biggest fucking wave, full up and stretched and deliciously spaced out. Bob’s grip was raising bruises over his hip bones and he knew it was gonna hit him when he felt Bob shift his angle, slamming home twice “Motherfucker!” and holding Frank firmly in place as he came. Bob stayed where he was, running a hand over Frank’s chest to grip his throat, once more tipping his head back to open his airway. Gerard, joining them on the couch sank his weight onto the cushions in front of them, kissing Frank deeply and skittering fingertips across Frank’s nipples and down the dark strip of hair on his belly to wrap his lubed up fingers around Frank’s shaft. As Bob panted through his comedown behind him Frank tensed up and moaned as Gerard’s expert grip brought his long endured plateau of pleasure crashing down. He felt lips on his ears and between his shoulders as he came shamelessly and cursing all over Gerard’s hand and the couch.

“Fuck I love my band.” Was all he could think as Bob carried him to his bunk, sliding in beside him like a giant squeezable radiator. Low voices accompanied his decent into sleep, that, and the beeping midi boot-up of Gerard’s Gameboy.


End file.
